The gratification of his utter bodily weariness was more exquisite than the gratification of his hunger had been; the humble couch was like down pillows after stones and hedges, and the pursued and hunted man abandoned himself without resistance to the helplessness of sleep.
When he awoke it was about three hours later; he was racked with pain and still exhausted, but he made a violent effort to rouse himself; his mind was quite clear; he knew what he was risking and he would risk it no longer; he forced back the desire to again fall into a stupor of sleep and sat up on the couch.
There was a great noise outside; some one was arriving with loud and angry commands, jingle of harness, clatter of horses’ hoofs.
The Marquis guessed that this noise was what had roused him; he rose softly, went to the window and peeped through the screen of leaves.
A well-dressed man was dismounting and another was ordering about the stable-boy with an air of great importance.
The Marquis dropped into his former seat with his back to the light–had he stayed too long?–was there some possible way of immediate escape?
Only by the common passage through which he had come; and it was too late for that, for he could hear the two men already there calling for wine.
Who were they? Was he caught? Could he play his part through and cheat the accursed of their prey?
He asked himself these questions in swift succession, and every nerve in his being braced itself to avoid the final misery of facing the humiliation of falling into his enemies’ hands after undergoing every other humiliation of flight, concealment and degradation. He could not have put into words the hatred he felt towards the tyrants with whom for a while he had in his blindness joined, forsaking his own order, believing in his folly that he was leaguing with the right, that he was to be one of the prophets of a new era of liberty and light and hope.